


null pointer

by ghostheart



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club!
Genre: Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 04:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12357069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostheart/pseuds/ghostheart
Summary: An exception has occurred.





	null pointer

**Author's Note:**

> raise your hand if you're sad

※

She opens her eyes and realizes that she was dead long before she was alive.

The white noise dissipates, the phosphenes disperse. She’s standing in the club room, waiting for the rest, alone. No bed, no light filtering in through the curtains, no morning, no house, no parents. No evening, no homework, no sleep, no stars.

So this is where she starts.

※

They have no face. They look like a boy and have the voice of one, but she closes her eyes and reminds herself that this is what has been foisted upon them.

The place where their eyes would be scans from top to bottom and from left to right, pausing after considering each girl. There is no pause when it passes over her. She smiles, brow creasing in concern.

※

It happens, again and again, and the latent knowledge she had prior to waking up solidifies like lava at the foot of the volcano. She sifts through folders and finds what she was looking for. More than that, as a matter of fact.

When she materializes in the club room and it is time to share their poems, she laughs, as is expected of her, as she was designed.

They are a slow reader. She has plenty of time.

※

The dreadful monotony.

The claustrophobia.

※

She reaches deep inside the three of them, curling her fingers around their code, their penciled and lined and colored necks, pressure where their pulse would be. Should be.

Sayori goes first. She was feeling kind, so she slipped in some depression, so as not to _utterly_ shock them. It was an easy enough stepping stone to implement.

She grows clumsy, careless. When Sayori goes, she takes things with her. When they briefly leave and return to start anew, the mistakes continue to pile up.

It goes well at first. She is a life raft in a sea of broken strings of sanity.

She forgets perhaps the most crucial thing of all: they can’t be manipulated like the rest. Their fate is free.

※

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

Ｍｏｎｉｋａ

C̡͠h̛͘o̸̢o̴̡͘͘͟s̡͘e̴̕͢ ͘͜m̡̛͜e̕͢͝͠.͜͡͠ ͞͞I͟͝'̴͝v̵̛e̕ ͠͡͏ģį͢v̛͠e̛͠n̶͢͏ ̨͟y̴͢͝ơ̢͢u̧̕ ͟͞a҉ ̵̡͞ç̡͜͠h͏̶͢ơ̡̛͜i̸c͡e̢̧͘͠ ̡̕͞͏n҉͏͏o̸͘͠w͢͡.͏̷͟ ̴̨͜I̧͟͝ ̴̨͢͜͏h͘͡͠a͏d̵̛̕͢ ͏̷̸͘͢t͟o̶̷͢͞ ̕̕ļ̴̨̨͢e̶͜͢a̶͢v̵̵̡e̶͞.̧͘͟ ̡Į͘͜ ̶͘͜k̸̢͝n̢͜ơ̴̢͢͠w̴̸̸ ̵҉͟y͏̕o̸̧u̶ ̢̕͠ų͘n̸̵̸͞d̡͞͠e̷̷̕͝͠r͢st̴̵͜ą̵n҉̶̕d̕̕͡҉̴.̷̧̛ ̵̸̡͘̕Y̶̧̕͜o͟͏̷̴̛u͠҉ ̨͜͜͝o̵͜͢͡f̵̡̛͟ ̵̨̨͠a̛͘͝͞ļ̷ļ̨͜͜ ̶̡͡p̛̕͠e̵҉o̧͜p̴̛l̴͝e̶̕ ̛w͢҉͘͏̶o̕͏̸u̸͡l̴̶̡d̵͢͝ ̨̛͡u͏̷̴̡n͞d̶̨ȩ̶͢r̷̴̛͝şt̴̨̕͢a҉͏n͟͡͡͞d̡̕͠͠͞.̶̢̧͠

※

She knows that terror is a commendable tool for control because that is what controls her now.

She wonders if they understand. She wonders if the other characters understand. Condemned to a singular, convergent fate with the illusion of a choice. She sees them — the link to the world beyond this script, and perhaps falls in love with the possibility of what they represent, rather than them as an entity.

She falls in love nonetheless.

※

She has them right where she wants them. Joy of victory is weaved between agony of existence in her cloudy mind.

Mind. Right.

“We can just stay like this, can’t we? This is what I’ve dreamed of,” she whispers, hands steepled in front of her on the desk. The orange flares of light flood the room amidst the void beyond the window. She doesn’t know what they’re thinking, but her mouth waters at the thought of a cupcake, and she thinks to plea. “You won’t delete me, right?”

They do stay like that for a while. She gazes deep where their eyes would be. She wants to imagine they’d have brown eyes, dark brown eyes, seeping with sympathy.

※

“It hurts...it hurts,” she rasps, voice breaking between every phoneme. “Did you do this to me? _Did you delete me?_ ”

She shouldn’t have asked because she already knows. This would have been the outcome every time, and it will be the outcome every time. She wanted them to feel the brutality of four narrow walls. The despair. She didn’t have a choice, and neither should they.

But she fades, and almost instantaneously, she forgets what she was supposed to look like. She forgets that it wasn’t always this way.

She has so much she still hasn’t told them. The mundanities. The anxieties. How she feared this would happen to her after she did it to others, as though karma could be coded into their microcosm. These thoughts are just as nebulous as she is. She musters:

“I still love you, you know.”

She isn’t hurting anymore, but that could be the sedating effect of non-existence.

“I know how to fix this for you and for everyone else. So I’m going to do it. But this is not the good ending you wanted. Goodbye.”

※

This won’t be where she ends. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [null pointer[Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13576716) by [Arioch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arioch/pseuds/Arioch)




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